The Golden Age of Love
by CrystallineMaple
Summary: Birth, Love, and Death are three immortal beings who go by the names Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert. When Gilbert kills off Francis' mortal lover, Francis is determined to get even. But of course, Francis' revenge doesn't go quite as planned... PruCan, Spamano, more.
1. The Circle of Life

A/N: I hope you enjoy chapter one. I'll try to update soon!

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><p>The Circle of Life<p>

My name is Death, and someday you're going to have to meet me.

But if that scares you - if that makes you nervous - you can call me Gilbert Beilschmidt, because I like that name a lot better.

I only have two friends. Love, who prefers the name Francis Bonnefoy, and Birth, who prefers the name Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Out of us three, I am the only one seen as 'evil'. Birth is a beautiful miracle and so is love. But for some reason, people seem to think death is the end. It's not.

Well, it might be. Don't ask me if there's an afterlife or not - I don't know. I only guide souls from the edge of the world we exist in to the edge of the Beyond, where dead people disappear to. You cannot pass into the Beyond if you are not dead, and I'm not technically dead or alive, so I don't know what happens there. Sorry.

Anyway, there is a difficult task waiting for me tonight. At 7:53 this evening, I must visit Cannes, France, and kill a young woman named Jeanne.

This shouldn't be a big deal, but Jeanne is... special.

Not to me. To me, she's just another human. Not famous, not well-known. She's important - everyone is important - but she's not important to _me. _

I started suspecting Francis was fooling around about two years ago, shortly after he began disappearing for long stretches of time and not taking his bow with him. His bow is exactly like that bow you humans believe belongs to Cupid. One shot with one of his gold-tipped arrows sends someone falling down into the unreachable grasps of love.

His weapon is the bow. Mine is the dagger. (Yeah, contrary to belief, I don't normally use a scythe.) Antonio doesn't have a weapon, only a blessing.

What was I saying, though? Oh. Jeanne. Right. I suppose that Francis, Antonio and I are immortal, and Jeanne isn't. She's human. Which is why she has to die - because that's the way it's supposed to go. Duh. I believe - though I've no proof - that Francis has fallen for Jeanne.

How's this possible? I mean, it's kind of hard to shoot yourself with a bow, true. But sometimes, very rarely, love can defy love. Sometimes - like, once every hundred years or something - Francis shoots someone with an arrow and they don't fall in love. Sometimes Francis _doesn't _shoot anyone but they _still _fall in love. Maybe that's what happened.

The way I see it, all love is accidental.

But don't tell Francis I said that.

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><p>It's 7:52 when I find Jeanne. She's pretty, with short blonde hair, and she's driving. I understand immediately that Jeanne is to die in a car crash.<p>

Let me be clear about something. When people die, _I _don't kill them. I mean, I do, because I'm Death, but...

Okay, let's talk about Jeanne.

In about forty-five seconds, she's going to die. In a car crash. She's going to die in the car crash because Death (me) is going to come for her. If Death doesn't come for her, if he just lets the car crash happen, she'll probably be in a coma for a few days and then make a slow recovery. But that's not the way it's supposed to be.

It's like... when a kid is born, Antonio gets a sort of feeling of what their life is going to be like, much in the way I know when someone should and shouldn't die.

The only way I can make sure someone is dead for sure is with my dagger.

And sometimes that doesn't work. Francis' arrows can be faulty, and once in a lifetime, my dagger is faulty.

I check my watch. 7:53. In that instant, there's a horribly loud shattering noise in the stretch of road in front of me as Jeanne's car collides with another driver.

Jeanne is the only one who has to die.

There's this weird, confusing moment when the world feels like it's frozen, and that's when I do it. I walk over to Jeanne - her heart is still beating, but her eyes are closed. I stare at her for a moment. Francis fell in love with this girl. And so Love fell in love... How ironic.

Without another thought, I pull out my dagger and slowly press the cold metal against her throat.

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><p>I'm sure this is too much for you to take in. Should I clarify some things?<p>

I don't have to 'hand-kill' everyone like I did with Jeanne. If I had to do that, I wouldn't have time for anything. But I do make personal visits sometimes. It feels like the right thing to do.

Also, I'm fairly personable. I won't kill anyone until it's time. And I can materialize wherever I want whenever I want, so don't even bother trying to run from me.

Lastly, death doesn't hurt. Dying might. But death doesn't.

What's the difference, you ask?

I'll use Jeanne as an example. That car crash might have been painful - I doubt it was, but it might have been - but I can promise you that when my dagger cut into her throat, it didn't hurt a bit.

In some ways, I'm a lot more merciful than Toni or Francis. Everyone knows that giving birth is a pain, and broken hearts are some of the most agonizing things. But I wouldn't know.

As soon as I get home - I know it sounds strange, but I do have a house in Berlin - I take off my boots, rest my dagger in its case, and start boiling water to make homemade hot chocolate. (Like I mentioned, I'm personable. I'm just like a human, except I control death and I'm immortal, okay?)

I relax. I'm done for the night. Done killing. I mean, there are mental affairs to attend to, but I'm done hand-killing for the next few hours. Besides, Francis is probably going rabid by now. I'm sure he knows. I _wonder_ if he knows...

Around nine, as I'm enjoying hot chocolate so hot it scalds my throat, my phone rings, but it's not Francis like I was expecting. It's Antonio.

"Toni. Hey. How's it going?"

"Where are you?" he answers, and I can picture his green eyes filled with worry.

"In Berlin. I'm done for now. Why?"

"Francis is upset. What did you do?"

I sigh, setting my mug next to me. "My job. He fell in love with a human, okay? No matter how you look at things, it isn't my fault."

"I know, but I - Francis is really unhappy. Can't you bring her back?"

"Antonio, _you're _the one who can control life and birth and stuff. It's not my area."

"Don't pin this on me!"

I snort. "What does he want me to do, go to the Beyond or something? Haha, awesome. Not happening. Bye now."

I'm about to hang up when Antonio's panicked voice stops me.

"Gilbert," he says. "I think you should watch your back."

I cough on my hot chocolate. It's just funny. "Francis would never hurt me. I'm sure he's upset, but he knew that Jeanne was human. Besides, love isn't a certain thing."

"Of course Death would say that," Antonio says.

Since I can't sleep - Death and Life and Birth don't sleep - I kind of watch the television but not really, drinking the entire pot of hot chocolate. I keep thinking about the conversation I had with Jeanne as I led her to the Beyond.

The path to the Beyond - which can only be walked by me and those who have already died - is not like this world at all. Some people call it the Spirit Trail. Remember, it's an alternate universe, so the laws of space and time that are here don't exist there.

So, Jeanne said she understood that she couldn't be brought back to earth, but asked if I'd deliver a message to Francis Bonnefoy.

"Sure," I said. "But he's Love - he'd get it anyway."

At that point, Jeanne stopped walking and looked at me. We were close to the Beyond, and I could feel it - an uncomfortable ache beginning to spread through my head.

"What do you mean, he's 'Love?'"

"He's like me. Can we go, please? Being close to the Beyond is painful if you're not dead."

Jeanne frowned. "You mean... he's... I mean, he's kind of immortal, like you?"

I nodded. "Right. Now please, hurry along. I'd like to get back home before I miss _The Walking Dead_. Wait, what was it you wanted me to tell Francis?"

The Beyond was so close at that point that I could see the blinding white light coming from the portal leading to it. And without another word, Jeanne raced toward it and flung herself into the gateway of the Beyond. She was crying, and in the places her tears hit the Spirit Trail, little white roses blossomed up from the ground.

Just like that, she was gone.

She left this universe crying.

Even for me, it kind of broke my heart.


	2. Astral Roses

A/N: Any characters you'd like to see in here? I've already got a plot idea, but the characters aren't decided yet.

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><p>Astral Roses<p>

Around midnight, I stop hanging around at home. Some American celebrity just overdosed on drugs, and I'd like to have a chat with them before I personally lead them down the Spirit Trail. Besides, a raging storm is passing through Germany. At first, I try cranking up the volume on the television to block out the rumbling thunder and syncopated rat-a-tat-tat of the rain, but before long, the power goes out. Since I've no desire to dig out some old candles, changing locations is the second best option.

It's still afternoon in America, and it's overcast but not freezing.

I walk through the street crowds without a second thought. Only people imminently close to death can see me unless I alter myself into my human form. In the human form of Death, I am like a human in every regard except that I cannot die or bleed or really feel pain. Ever. But I only like changing when necessary.

The second I see him, I change my mind. Screw that American celebrity - they can find their own way to the Beyond.

He's smoking a cigarette, leaning against a small city tree, staring up at the skyscrapers dominating the cloudy gray sky.

"Mr. Arthur Kirkland," I say, walking up to him. "Are you ready to go?"

Arthur looks at me. He's got thick eyebrows, blond hair, and an extremely attractive face - one girls probably fawn over. Surprisingly, he shows no emotion, no shock. Instead, he taps his cigarette, letting the ash fall to the sidewalk. "Mind if I finish this first?"

He's got a sense of humor. I like that. "Sure. Light me one?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Death smokes?"

I accept the cigarette. "If you'd like to put it that way."

We are silent for a moment. "So," I say, lazily exhaling a cloud of smoke, "you can see me, and I'm not in human form. You know what that means?"

"I'm going to die," Arthur Kirkland replies, still gazing up at the sky. Rainclouds are moving in. The leaves on the street tree are a blazing autumn red, the branches arching poetically into the heavens. It stands out like bright blood on the dull, dark sky.

"How'd you know who I am?"

"Intuition. You just know," he says back. "I'm not worried. I know I'm young, but it'll be fine, right?"

I glance over at his emotionless face, at the cigarette he's clenching between his index and middle finger. "You've finished your smoke," I comment.

He grins wryly at me. "It would appear so."

Without another word, he falls to the ground. He seemed pleasant and unafraid of death, so as I pull out my dagger, I decide to be kind.

I take his soul before his heart attack does.

* * *

><p>The Spirit Trail looks pretty normal. The further we get from the universe, the stronger the aching in my head becomes. The Beyond headache - one of the only kinds of pain I've ever had to deal with in my long existence.<p>

As the sky begins to lighten to a gray, I look back at Arthur. "We're almost to the Beyond. The portal's ahead, okay?"

After a few more moments of walking, bright white objects come into view, right in front of the blinding portal to the Beyond.

"What are those?" Arthur asks, pointing at the white things.

I take a step closer. Jeanne's tear roses have not only survived on the Spirit Trail, they have blossomed. There are more of them growing. Some kind of substance keeps dripping out of the petals, but I know it's not water because it's glittering and sparkling like thousands of tiny diamonds. It's beautiful.

"White roses!" Arthur says, delighted. "That's very pretty."

"Are you ready to go to the Beyond?" I ask, gently rubbing my forehead. The pain is almost unbearable. Being so close to the portal, yet still being alive...

"Sure, sure. But just a minute, please. What are those flowers?"

"Astral Roses," I say, naming them instantly. I've never seen them before, yes, but it makes sense. The area that surrounds the Spirit Trail is called the Astral Plane. If a soul strays from the Spirit Trail while I am guiding them, they are doomed to roam the restless, malicious Astral Plane for eternity. Stepping off the Spirit Trail before reaching the Beyond is like condemning yourself to Hell, should such a place exist.

"They look like they're made out of frozen glitter," Arthur says. "They look delicate. Like if you touched them, they'd shatter."

I agree with him, bending down to touch one to see if it _does _break, but just before my finger comes in contact with one of the Astral Rose's petals, I hear a noise behind me.

There's a cracking noise, louder than the thunder I heard in the German storm, and a flash so bright that for a second, the blinding light of the portal disappears.

Arthur has thrown himself off the Spirit Trail.

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><p>"Mmm-hmm. Seemed like a levelheaded guy, too..."<p>

"Maybe he had a mental illness."

Antonio called me after I returned from the Spirit Trail, wanting to know if I'd be interested in having dinner with him at his house in Spain. I said sure, and when I told him about Arthur, he wanted to know more. Even though Birth and Love cannot run the Spirit Trail, they know about the Beyond and the dangers of the Astral Plane.

"No," I reply, taking a bite of deliciously spicy food. "Mental illnesses and injuries do not transfer to your spirit form. In your spirit form, you are as healthy as possible, with all of your limbs and no scars. You are in the prime of your life! There's only one disease that doesn't go away when you die..." I crinkle my nose.

Antonio frowns. "What's that?"

"Love," I say. "Stupid. So many people don't want to follow me down the Trail because they don't want to leave their loved ones behind."

Antonio takes a bite of his _papas bravas_ and shrugs. "I don't know, then. You say he jumped off the Spirit Trail?"

"Yes! Literally flung himself into the Astral Plane. He's going to be there forever."

"Arthur Kirkland... I don't remember him. You say he was British?"

"Yup. But he was in America when he had his heart attack."

"That's strange," Antonio sighs. "Anyway, mind if I tell you about something else?"

I nod, sipping my beer. "By all means, go on."

"I haven't seen Francis since earlier tonight."

I look out the window. It's about 3:30 in the morning in Spain, I believe. Remember, I don't have to sleep. My days are a lot longer than a human's, because I can use all twenty-four hours. I can't imagine having to sleep for seven or eight hours a day. I have too much to get done for that kind of inactivity. But anyway...

"Earlier tonight? You mean, when-" I pause abruptly. "Why do you think that is?"

"Jeanne, probably. Oh, Gilbert, you shouldn't have."

"I didn't have a choice!" I snap. "What was I supposed to do? If I let people live because of preferences... that just wouldn't make sense!"

"I hate to bring you down, Gil, but maybe it would. At least a little," Antonio says.

I immediately jump on the defensive. "So? You know what people's lives are going to be like and you let _them_ be born! You let murders and liars and dictators appear. You know what'll happen! Don't tell me that you'd do it any differently if you were me."

Antonio looks unsettled but returns to eating.

There is no more serious conversation during dinner. Thankfully, we stick to harmless topics, like movies and architecture.

Around 4:00 AM, I leave to guide more people down the Spirit Trail - more people I want to hand-kill - but when I get to the portal and the Astral Roses, something makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. And it's not the Beyond headache.

I can't pinpoint it. But as soon as those people get through the portal, I'm back on earth, trying to calm down.

Something strange is happening.

I just don't know what.


	3. Bows and Arrows

A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter! Feel free to review, I'd like to know what you guys think of this story!

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><p>Bows and Arrows<p>

The next few days are regular. Eat. Guide souls. Francis is still cold-shouldering me. Earlier today, I was in Paris gathering the spirit of a French ambassador, so I stopped by Francis' apartment and knocked on the door. I heard a deadbolt sliding into place and the distinct noise of a piece of furniture scraping across the ground. I got the message. I could have materialized into his room, but there's an unspoken agreement between Antonio, Francis and me to not do those kinds of things to each other.

"Fine, have it your way," I shouted, then stormed off with Mr. Fancy French Ambassador.

But now I'm back from the Spirit Trail (and it was an exhausting trip because that French guy had a lot of inner rage, most of it directed at me) and resting in Berlin. I'm halfway through an episode of some comedy show when my phone chimes. An text. From Antonio. It's riddled with grammatical errors, and he must have typed it quickly, because I can tell where autocorrect has screwed things up. Whatever the situation, he wrote this _very_ quickly.

Gilbert bad thngs are happining I do't knowplease come to Pariws15mj

I squint. Pariws15mj? What does that mean? Was he trying to type a city? Pariws... Paris, maybe? The discomfort I felt a few days ago when I met Arthur Kirkland fills my chest again, panic rising up and pulling me under. Is Antonio in trouble? My phone lets out another chime, and a second text fills the screen.

What just happened? Haha, sorry about that. I meant to say, Paris in 15 minutes? Thanks.  
>-Antonio<p>

I slouch in relief. So nothing's the matter. Antonio just wants to meet me in Paris. Okay. Cool. Maybe it's about Francis or something. I'll be right back.

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><p>I got another text about five minutes ago, saying to wait outside of Francis' apartment. So that's what I'm doing. I was here just a few hours ago, for that ambassador guy. Maybe Francis has changed his mind about ignoring me. Maybe he's realized that death is inevitable and he shouldn't blame me. As soon as these thoughts jump into my head, Francis' door swings open.<p>

"Gilbert. You came."

"Of course," I say. "So, what's the matter? Where's Antonio?"

Francis ignores my questions. "Come inside. I just baked some red velvet cake. Have a seat."

I sit awkwardly on the plush couch. I hear Francis moving around in the kitchen, and then a delicious aroma hits my nose. Antonio and I can both cook, but not the way Francis can. Not even close. His pastries and bread are treats I haven't been getting much of lately, since he's so hell-bent on ignoring me. He returns a moment later holding two small plates of cake. "Tea? Coffee? Wine?"

"Um, I'll just have some coffee, I guess," I say. My dagger feels heavier in my pocket, as if accusing me of something. _You killed his love, _it seems to say.

"Shut up!" I growl.

Francis turns back around. "What?"

"N-nothing, sorry!" I reply, then curse myself - silently. _I'm talking to knives... this is so not good... _

Francis pours us both coffee. "Cream? Sugar?"

I shake my head. I don't know why we're both acting so cordial all of a sudden. It feels wrong, like speaking formally to a cousin.

"This is delicious," I say, taking a bite of the cake.

"Thank you." He stands up and then returns a moment later with more coffee, along with his golden bow and a quiver of golden arrows.

I remember about twenty years ago, I was out in the Swiss Alps and I met the sweetest couple. I wasn't there to end their lives. I was just in the Alps to ski and have some fun with Francis and Antonio. I learned through a series of odd events throughout the vacation week that the girl was cheating on the guy. I wanted to shoot the guy with one of Francis' arrows to make him fall in love with someone else - someone who'd truly love him back - but Francis refused.

I got mad, stole his bow, and ran off with it. I tried to shoot the guy through the heart the way Francis does to make people fall in love, but the bow was so heavy that I could barely pick it up. I managed to notch an arrow with extreme difficulty, but when I shot, I missed by so much.

It pissed me off because - not to brag - I'm pretty good with archery. I'd put Katniss Everdeen to shame. I'd make Robin Hood cry with envy!

A few years later, I confessed to Francis that I'd tried to use his bow. I thought he'd be mad. He just laughed and said, "I know you are an excellent archer, but only I can shoot the golden bow and make people fall in love. It's like your dagger - it's a power that only you can use."

That's why I'm so wary of that stupid weapon. It's a thing of mass destruction. It's _worse _than mass destruction. That's how careful you should be around love, kids. Take Death's word for it.

I tilt my head to the side, wondering why he's got the bow with him at this moment, and noticing my questioning look, he says, "I have somewhere to be after this."

"Oh, I see."

"So, Gilbert, you're probably wondering why you were called over here so suddenly."

"The thought has crossed my mind," I say, looking vacantly out the window. We must be ten stories up. "I'm also wondering where Antonio is. After all, _he _invited me. In fact, I'm willing to bet that Antonio never sent me those texts. You did. Right?"

He ignores that last bit. "I'd like to talk about Jeanne," he says.

Of course. "Look, Francis, I'm sorry. I really am. But that - I didn't have a choice. She had to die. It... it's life. Death is a part of life. Just talk to Antonio."

"I'm not saying you had a choice," Francis says, "but you could've let her live a bit longer. She was only twenty-five."

"I'm sorry-"

"I don't want your sympathy," Francis says coldly. "I want you to know what I've been through."

"What?" I give a half-laugh, my coffee mug a few inches from my face. "What do you mean?"

With lightning speed, Francis grabs his bow, notches an arrow, and aims.

The coffee mug slips from my hand. I hear glass breaking and feel hot coffee splashing across my hands, though it doesn't hurt.

"Francis," I whisper. I can't move. I can't do anything but feel immense terror. Francis has a powerful weapon in his hand, and it's pointing right at me. No, it won't do me physical damage. _Nothing _can do me _physical _damage. But he might as well be tearing my heart out of my chest. I want to run and scream and throw the rest of my cake in his face. But I'm frozen in fear.

"Long live love," he sneers, his fingers tightening around the bowstring. Then he lets go.

Even before the arrow strikes me, I know Francis won't miss.

Love never misses.

The arrow buries itself in my heart.


	4. Supernova

A/N: When Love, Birth, and Death are capitalized, I'm talking about Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert. When they're not, I'm simply talking about the words.

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><p>Supernova<p>

I feel no pain. Nothing. But I know it has hit me, because I feel a warmth spreading through my being. I look down, and an arrow is buried in my chest. The golden feathers begin dissolving into a fine mist until it's completely gone. Standard.

"You idiot!" I stand up and shout, grabbing both of Francis' shoulders. "Do you know what you've done?" I'm yelling so loudly that Francis winces.

I pull my dagger out and hurl it through the air, aiming for Francis' throat. It bounces harmlessly off his neck, landing on the soft carpet like a foam toy. If I did that to a normal person, their soul would be split from their body with enough force to cause a blackout in New York City for an entire day. But Francis is immortal. Nothing happens.

Francis has recovered his composure and snarls. "Now you'll understand, Death."

I grab my dagger off the ground and storm out of the apartment.

I don't know what I'm going to do.

There is nothing _to_ do anymore except wait. I don't know what kind of love it's going to be. Francis is probably going to be extra cruel and make it a one-sided creepy kind of obsession in which I am the only one doing any loving.

I sit in my house, sprawled across the couch and staring at the ceiling. The television is on, but I'm not paying any attention to it.

I hold my dagger against the side of my neck.

Gathering my breath quickly, I stab down as hard as I can.

Nothing.

My skin is unbreakable - a perk of being immortal. Apparently the only things that can hurt me are golden arrows. Huh.

Wait a second. Remember how I said that sometimes Francis' arrows don't work? Sometimes they go, like, haywire. He did strike me with one, yes. But maybe it doesn't affect immortals. Maybe it can puncture my skin, but it can't do any real damage.

_Please let that be the case! _

A knock on the door startles me, and when I look at the clock perched on my fireplace's mantelpiece, it reads 5:30 PM. I've really been spacing out.

"Coming, coming," I call, standing up, stretching quickly, and hurrying over to the frosted glass door.

"Gil!"

"Antonio!" I exclaim, throwing the door open. "What's up? Whatcha doing in Berlin?"

Antonio pats his pockets, frowning. "Did I leave my phone here the other day, when I stopped by to drop off those spices?"

"Eh?" I scan the living room. "Nope." Something inside me clicks. I understand how Antonio sent me those texts earlier today - it wasn't him at all, just as I thought. "Francis has it."

"How do you know?"

"Well, I..."

Quickly, I run over things in my head. Francis is not going to tell Antonio he shot me, I am absolutely positive. If I had anything to lose, I'd actually bet my life on it. (Ha!) That means the only way Antonio would know about any of this golden arrow crap is if I told him. I'm tempted to do it, just to mar the pretty portrait of Francis, but after giving things a second thought, that might not be the best idea.

If Antonio took my side, it would be Death and Birth against Love. We would win since we are the beginning and the end, and he is the mere middle.

As much as I hate love, a world bleak of that emotion would be pretty depressing. Humans need _something _to pass their tedious days.

On the other hand, if Antonio were to take Francis' side, nothing good could come from that, either. They couldn't get rid of me - it's impossible, unless they want a world full of immortal humans (which we've all agreed would be apocalyptic) - but things would get even worse.

"I was over there earlier, and I saw it," I lie.

Antonio grins. "So he's forgiven you? Great!"

"Yeah... um... he said he understood." Lying to happy, smiley Antonio does not feel good.

In fact, it feels pretty corrupt.

* * *

><p>Out of Antonio, Francis, and me, Antonio is the oldest.<p>

I'm sure you've heard the old paradox. 'What came first, the chicken or the egg?'

This isn't like that. The first question I asked Antonio was, "How was I born?" And he couldn't say a stork delivered me or anything, because that isn't true. I wasn't born like that. I'm not human.

Okay, so, Antonio has always been around, logically. Birth has always existed as long as life has existed.

Antonio has told me that after many creatures were born, some animal and some human, they could never leave the earth, even if they were injured or sad. He thought this was wrong, so one night he wished for a companion to take things out of their suffering.

At that moment, he says, there was a flash of light above his head in the sky, and fine, glittering dust began to rain from the sky. I was born from the stardust of a supernova. That's the way he likes to say it.

Personally, the story sounds a bit far-fetched to me. It's possible I may have been born from a supernova, but I doubt it happened the way Antonio says it did.

Antonio and I were alone together for a few decades, until humans began to advance a bit more. As they grew closer to each other, Francis was created.

For anyone who has basic knowledge of Greek Mythology, you know that Athena sprang from the head of Zeus. Same with Francis. He was born from the divine dreams of humans.

Don't tell anyone, but when Antonio invites me over for dinner and we drink beer and margaritas and laugh and eat good food... well, sometimes I wonder what it would be like if it were still just him and me. If Francis had never been born. If there were no one around to bake us éclairs and make people fall in love or do stupid stuff.

On occasion, Francis and Antonio team up against me. Whenever there's an outbreak of disease or a war, they always blame me. But it's not my fault. Humans make their own choices. I simply take their spirits from their bodies so they can leave this world. I'm not doing the murdering or making the violence.

It's very upsetting when they do that. For one, Antonio created me - stardust or no - so that I could put people out of their suffering. He told me that over and over before Francis was born. He told me how special I was because I could help him make the world a better place.

As soon as humans created Francis, I never heard Antonio say anything like that to me again. He loves me and I love him in the most platonic way possible. But it's not the same anymore.

And all that was thousands and thousands of years ago. I'm not sure if Antonio even remembers anymore. Occasionally, he'll call me a stupid-ass name like Starry or Supernova, but I don't know if he really remembers or not.

After Francis appeared, I complained to Antonio, "Why am I not special to you anymore? There was already love in the world."

He ruffled my hair and said, "Death, there is family love and friendship love. Some humans love their gods. But I'd never heard of romantic love until Francis came around."

"He is a human creation," I scoffed. "That means he is weak and useless. He will die soon. Humans are always inventing new things."

Needless to say, Francis never disappeared.

What a shame.


	5. First Encounter

A/N: Whoa, I haven't updated in a while. Sorry about that! Enjoy this chapter, and please drop a review if you feel like it!

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><p>First Encounter<p>

The Astral Roses are still on the Spirit Trail, blossoming and glittering, aggressively white and gorgeous. That weird sparkling stuff is still pouring out of them, and a small stream has already appeared - maybe a kilometer now, if you were to measure using human standards - but every time I set my headache aside and try to follow the brook, it ends up running off the trail and rushing into the Astral Plane. Nope. Not going there.

I'm careful not to touch the stuff, though. Seems like a bad idea.

It's been a few days since Francis shot me. Nothing eventful has happened. I haven't fallen in love yet, and every day, I'm becoming a little more hopeful that the arrows may not work on immortals. Please. 'Cause that'd be so awesome.

So amazingly awesome.

* * *

><p>"The modern-day Shakespeare is going to be born in two hours!" Antonio announces proudly. "Well, kind of."<p>

I grumble, setting down my book and pointing at my coffee mug for more milk. "So?" Just like me, Antonio doesn't have to be there to see every child born (because, also like me, he'd have no time if he did that). Instead, he too has developed a mind frame where he only needs to visit certain people. He can pick. It's kinda cool.

"Don't you want to come with me and see?" he asks excitedly.

"No offense, but I've told you that stuff kind of grosses me out." I take a swig of coffee.

"Yeah, but this girl is going to be from America," Antonio says. "I'm sure there's an ICU nearby. Can't you find _someone _to kill off and come with me? Gil, this is history in the making! Just imagine - in twenty or thirty years' time, we could be back in this very kitchen, reading the paper, when we see her face and-"

"Okay, okay!" I wave a hand, just wanting him to shut up. "I'll come with you to see your miracle child. Quiet. When should we leave?"

"An hour and a half should be good." He smiles, walks over to his cabinet, and pulls out some ingredients. "I might as well cook while we're waiting. Are you hungry?"

"No thanks."

"Suit yourself." Antonio gets out a frying pan and hums quietly to himself, until something occurs to him. "Why haven't you and Francis been talking lately? I thought you said the other day that you two had made up."

I take a disinterested sip of coffee. "When'd I say that?"

"When I came to Berlin and asked if I'd left my phone behind."

"Oh," I say. "Oh, well, I'm not sure."

"You two can't be mad forever."

I close my eyes and sigh loudly so Antonio will quit bothering me.

He doesn't say anything else.

* * *

><p>I'm mad because Antonio made me get dressed to go to the hospital. I'd asked him what was wrong with wearing boxers if we weren't going to be visible to humans, and he said he was going to refuse to go with me unless I actually put on pants. (Another deep sigh from the tragically poor me.)<p>

Anyway, we materialize into some American hospital (we're in Maine, I think? Near the Canadian border?), and Antonio rushes off, leaving me in a half-filled waiting room. The place smells like lilies, which is weird to me, because hospitals usually smell like everything's just been wiped down, boiled, and sanitized heavily. A kid is sitting in one of the chairs, tears running down his face and fogging his glasses. I give him a slight smile until I remember that I'm not in human form, shrug, and keep walking. I know Antonio will take about an hour, so I wander down to the ICU like he suggested.

I flinch.

Not because of the condition some of these people are in. That doesn't bother me. But the fact that someone is about to die and I've barely realized it.

I walk over to the person's bedside and crouch down. "Hi. So, listen. I don't know why I didn't see you here earlier. I'm sorry. You might be in a lot of pain. I'm not sure - but at least you're unconscious. So that's good, right? Well, no matter. I'm going to end your earthly existence. I know you aren't supposed to die for a few more minutes, but you'll like it better wherever you're going, I promise." I take out my dagger, and the second it comes in contact with his throat, a bunch of loud monitors come whirling to life and I hear footsteps approaching rapidly. Someone is clinging to my arm.

I turn, and it's the person who's just died. I mean, his spirit. He sees his dead body on the table, recoils, and sways against me.

"Calm down," I say reassuringly. "It's alright now. How do you feel? What's your name?"

"Alfred Jones."

"Sounds like you had an accident."

"I was-" he tilts his head. "I was in the car. I must've - dude, what's going on?"

I explain quickly that I'm Death, that he's dead, that everything will be okay, and that he needs to come with me to the Beyond.

"Listen," Alfred says. "I can't. My brother - he's in the waiting room. He's expecting me to be okay, man. Just - just get me back to life."

I snort. "What are you, Jesus? Sorry, that isn't possible. I can't just go around resurrecting people. Do you think everyone who dies _wants _to die? I know it's difficult, but it's life. You're going to have to come with me."

"Just let me say goodbye," he begs.

I feel bad. "I would, but I can't," I reply. "Humans can't see you anymore."

"Fine. I'll go with you to the Beyond or whatever. But can you please tell my brother that I said I love him?"

I smile sympathetically. "Of course, Mr. Jones."

* * *

><p>When I get back from the Spirit Trail, Antonio still isn't back, so I return to the waiting room to see if I can find Alfred's little brother. Well, "He's my stepbrother," Alfred had said. "His name is Matthew Williams. I don't know if this is possible for you, but please try to actually be <em>comforting<em>." I snort and scan the room.

Just as I thought.

It's the kid who was crying earlier. That's Alfred's brother.

He's moved seats and is now sitting by the window, staring outside. It's raining.

I allow myself to be seen and walk over to him.

"Um... Matthew?"

He looks up, wiping a tear from his eye. He's got very pretty eyes. They're a kind of violet-blue color that reminds me of someone I met once, but I can't remember who. I smile as 'comfortingly' as I can and sit next to him. "How are you doing?"

"Who are you?" he inquires quietly.

"I heard about your brother," I say as apologetically as I can. Though I feel genuinely bad for Matthew, it's still hard for me to put a lot of compassion into my words, because so many people die every day and you get used to it. I'm not sure if family love is worse than Francis' love. "He said he really loved you, just before he went. Rest easy."

"The nurses," Matthew begins, his voice almost a whisper, "said that he was unconscious before he died. So as much as I appreciate your kindness - though I don't know who you are - I'm afraid what you're saying isn't possible."

"Anything's possible," I insist gently. I pat Matthew's shoulder and then, since I hear Antonio coming down into the hallway, I switch out of human form.

To Matthew, though, it just looks like I've disappeared into thin air.

It doesn't matter. He'll convince himself that he was just daydreaming and was still in shock from hearing the news about his brother. And I?

Well, I'll never have to see Matthew Williams ever again.


	6. Call Me Maybe

A/N: I'm thinking about dropping this fic. I really like the plot and such, but I'm not sure if anyone's reading. Should I try something else or stick with this story?

* * *

><p>Call Me Maybe<p>

Antonio and I are just about to go back to his house in Madrid when he claps his hands suddenly.

"Can we stop in Moscow?"

"Uh, why?" I ask, sipping some of the _meh _coffee I purchased in the hospital's café area.

"Things to do!" Antonio chirps. "Well, I'll only be an hour or so. If you don't want to come, you can do whatever you want. I'll see you later!" With that, he disappears, and I shake my head. Antonio is so spontaneously crazy. I'm sure he's in Russia by now, and I just hope he hurries and does whatever he needs to do so I can -

"Excuse me?"

I jump. I'm still in my mortal form - I had to buy that coffee, right? - and Alfred's younger brother is trying to talk to me. I cringe. I thought he was still in the waiting room. I hadn't thought of the fact that he might come down to the hospital's cafeteria, and I'm regretting my little disappearing act.

"Where are your parents?" I ask, tossing my Styrofoam cup into a nearby trash can.

He gestures vaguely toward the hallway leading back to the ICU's waiting room.

"Well I'm really sorry for your loss," I say. I don't know what else to say.

"Thanks," he replies blankly. Shock, probably.

"What's your name?" I say, even though I already know.

He hesitates. Only for a second. "I'm Matthew Williams. And you?"

I shift my weight from foot to foot. "I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt."

"You disappeared," he finally murmurs. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" I reply. My voice is too harsh and Matthew flinches. "Sorry," I say, lowering my volume, "but I really don't know what you're talking about."

Matthew shakes his head like he can't believe anything. "You're _real._ I had - my mother didn't believe me... she made me get a therapist because of you..."

Now I'm actually confused. "Begging your pardon, but what are you saying?"

"I was nine," he begins with a sigh, like he's recounting an old story for the thousandth time. He probably is. "I was with my grandfather in Montreal. We lived in Quebec at the time, but he took me out for my birthday to eat and see a hockey game. I was so excited." Matthew is staring out the window, where a sprinkling of raindrops are beginning to fall. "Anyway," he continues, "we were at this restaurant, and I know it sounds crazy, but the place got held up and my grandfather was shot that day. He died, and I swear - I mean I _swear _- you were there that day." Matthew narrows his eyes. "I saw you. No one believed me."

That must have been seven or eight or nine years ago, and even though my memory is very good, I don't remember this. I do believe Matthew, though. I must have been there to 'hand-kill' his grandfather.

"Tell me who you are," he begs.

I sympathize, and I sympathize deeply. I want to hug Matthew, who doesn't look more than eighteen. Matthew, whose brother just died in a car crash. Who really did see me and got called crazy by everyone. "You must be mistaken," I say, and every word feels wrong. Lying to Matthew feels worse than lying to Antonio. "There's no way I could have been there. I've never been to Montreal." Another lie. "I'm sorry."

Matthew shakes his head again, his strangely colored eyes gleaming with tears. "Gilbert, that isn't true. Remember? Right after Alfred passed away, you came and told me he said he loved me. You - he died in his sleep. How would you know? You aren't..."

I feel my chest ache. "I can't tell you," I insist. "Go home. I'm sorry."

"Why did they have to die?" Matthew asks. "Alfred and my grandfather."

"Give me your hand," I demand.

Matthew looks mystified, but holds his arm out. I pull a pen out of the messenger bag I always carry with me when I travel and scrawl my phone number on his palm.

I look at him. "Call me when you're ready." Then, making sure no one else is watching, I take my leave for Berlin.

* * *

><p>A day goes by. Then a week. Then two weeks. I have plenty to keep me busy - avoiding Francis, making sure I'm not falling in love with anyone, making sure Antonio doesn't find out I <em>might <em>be falling in love with anyone, and creating my story for Matthew - so when the aforementioned Canadian actually calls, I'm a bit surprised and unawesomely unprepared. "Hello?"

"It's Matthew. Is this Gilbert?"

_Scheißen! _

"Um, I was hoping we could talk about... about the hospital incident," Matthew says.

"Okay," I say. "What do you want to know?"

"Who are you?"

"I already told you," I say. "Gilbert Beilschmidt." Now that the initial shock and surprise of a loved one's death has passed, I see no reason to justify myself to Matthew.

He isn't fooled. "Tell me," he pleads.

Something about the fact that he doesn't believe me - or maybe that he hasn't given up - makes me want to tell him the smallest sliver of the truth. "Fine. Where do you want to meet up?"

If he says _my house, _I will never tell him the full story. If he says _Montreal _or _Quebec _or _the hospital in Maine, _I won't tell him anything important. There is only one correct answer, and if he says it, I make a mental promise to tell him everything.

"Where?" he asks finally, breaking the silence. "Well, you decide."

I smile. I think I like this Matthew Williams.

* * *

><p>I told Matthew to meet me tomorrow at noon in Boston, which is kind of close to where he lives and where there are no bad memories, but he surprised me by telling me he has school. And I remembed he's human and there are all these obstacles I must work around. So we ended up agreeing with Quebec, noon, Saturday. He then asked how he'd know where to find me, and I told him not to worry.<p>

I managed to conclude that Matthew is seventeen, in his last year of school, and moves around a lot. He was born in Canada, and there was some confusing thing he mentioned about a Canadian-American family. He's lived in Quebec, New York, Ontario, small cities in Maine, and a few other places, but I believe he lives in Philadelphia now. His brother went to college in Maine and was driving home for the holidays, which was when he got into the car accident and why he was in a hospital there.

I've decided to tell Matthew that I'm Death. I think he can handle it.

I wonder if he'll believe it.

I glance around my house, which is very quiet. Sometimes I think I want a dog, but I always decide against it.

For the first time in a few weeks, I think about Jeanne. She really kind of reminded me of the first Jeanne d'Arc. The famous one. I actually met her all those years ago.

I stand up. I'm growing restless and, embarrassingly, kind of nervous for Saturday. I decide I'll find some souls, run the Spirit Trail, and maybe chat with Antonio. Anything to subdue the worry building in my chest. I tell myself to calm down.

What's the worst that could happen?


	7. Explanations

A/N: Presenting Chapter Seven. I hope you guys like it. I can't believe the amount of support I received last chapter! Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon!

* * *

><p>Explanations<p>

Francis is doing this stupid thing where he's suddenly checking in with me twice a day. When he calls me, his voice is laced with fake, honeyed concern, almost masked by his self-created accent. When he texts, he acts like he's worried about me. I swear, I'll never understand what goes on in that man's head.

I'm still mad. Francis and I have never been very close, and we probably would have killed each other (figuratively) a thousand times if Antonio weren't here to keep us calm.

On Saturday, he calls me at 11:42 AM. I've been ignoring him for the past few days, but I'm so nervous about meeting Matthew I actually pick up my phone. Talking to Francis is better than nothing, but I keep a careful eye on the clock resting on the mantelpiece.

"Hello," I spit out.

"What are you doing today?" he asks pleasantly. If you didn't know the whole story, you'd think I was just being mean.

I hesitate. "I'm going to Quebec."

"Christmas is in a week. Aren't you celebrating?"

"I don't celebrate Christmas," I say. This is a lie. I like Christmas. I'm a bit of an agnostic, because who the hell really knows what goes on in the Beyond? If there's a god, I'm certainly not going to contradict that. But if there isn't, it doesn't matter to me. Besides, I was around _before _Christmas or Hanukkah or whatever the popular thing is these days. I mean, Greek gods died out over the centuries, and people really believed in _those. _But it's still a nice season. And I really respect people who can stay faithful to whatever religion they believe in. I always have.

Francis sounds surprised. "Oh? _Pourquoi...? _Why, Death, I've seen you hanging lights outside your house around the holidays and I've seen you-"

I hang up.

I grab my jacket - Canada's kind of a cold place, I believe - and leave for Quebec.

* * *

><p>He's standing outside a little restaurant, and I find him immediately. I know I surprise him, because he jumps when he sees me. "How did you know I was here?"<p>

"Want to get something to eat?" I inquire, gesturing at the building in front of us. It's decorated festively with a wreath hanging on the door. I forgot how quickly the Christmas season always approaches, but it makes me kind of happy.

We sit down at a booth near the back and the waitress hands us two lunch menus. Matthew smiles, but I stare at the wall, my heart beating rapidly. I know I must sound confident, but I don't know if I can do this. If things don't work, I can always kill Matthew, but he's not supposed to die yet, and it isn't good to alter a previously set fate.

I jump back to reality when I feel Matthew gently kicking me under the table. The waitress looks a bit annoyed, and I realize that she's been asking me what I'd like to drink for the past minute.

"Water, please," I say automatically, turning red.

She leaves the table and Matthew sighs. "So, _Gilbert..."_

"Yeah?"

"Who are you actually? It's been two weeks since I met you and I've mostly gathered myself. After Alfred and everything. So tell me." He leans on his elbows with a determined look on his face, like he's not leaving until he gets an answer. I admire that.

But his eyes really bother me. They're a very unique color but they remind me of something - or someone - I can't quite place.

"You keep spacing out," he says gently.

"I'm just busy," I say. "Aren't you?"

He looks startled. "Well yes, but school just got out for break... I told my parents I was visiting my grandmother, who still lives here. That's why they let me leave Philadelphia for a few days. So no, my schedule isn't too packed at the moment. But enough about me. Come on, Gilbert. You have to understand, I need to know."

I take a deep breath.

And I tell him.

* * *

><p>I disclose that it'll sound impossible and that this must stay a secret. He nods, his irregular-hued eyes wide. I talk to him about Death and Birth and Love and how I don't have parents, just Antonio, and I was possibly born from a supernova. I tell him about my dagger and the Spirit Trail and how even though I'm Death, I don't know what happens when you die because living people can't go into the Beyond and I'm still alive, even if I'm immortal.<p>

"I'm not sure if I believe you," he says when I'm done. But he isn't screaming and he hasn't run yet, so things are looking okay.

"That's absolutely fine," I say. "I know it's a lot to take in. It'd take someone as awesome as me to get it all at once."

"So you've met every person who has ever died?" Matthew queries in a tone of wonder.

I tell him about hand-killing and how I don't have to guide everyone to the Spirit Trail. I explain it like it's a natural phenomenon, because to me, it is.

Matthew still has that stunned, dazed look, and even when our food shows up, he doesn't touch it. He just quizzes me about a slew of historical figures and whether I met them. The answer is yes to Anne Frank, Leonardo da Vinci, Martin Luther King Jr., Beethoven, Mozart, and Albert Einstein. No to Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, and most famous war figures. I don't have much interest in meeting those kinds of people.

"But you chose to 'hand-kill' my grandfather and Alfred? What made them special?"

"Well," I say, taking a bite of my sandwich, "I honestly don't remember your grandfather. I'm sorry. And Alfred... I came to Maine with Antonio - err, Birth - because he wanted to meet this little American baby. He said she'd be the 'modern-day Shakespeare.'"

"So they weren't important to you?" Thankfully, Matthew doesn't sound hurt, just puzzled, almost as if he's trying to solve a math problem he's never seen before.

"No no," I say quickly. "I have a theory that everyone is important, you know? Not necessarily to me or you or anyone in this city. But to _someone." _

"Like a story," Matthew says. "I read a story like that once. The main character killed herself because she thought no one loved her, when all along, the person she was meant to be with was in another city. So they never met, even though they were supposed to. Just later in life."

I can't stop the snort that escapes my mouth.

Now Matthew actually looks hurt. "Eh? Weren't you talking about your friend Francis and how he's Love? He exists. You can't deny that love isn't real."

"It's real, but it's the worst thing in the world," I press. Then I try to backtrack because hurting Matthew's feelings makes me feel shitty.

And I realize something. Something bad.

I genuinely enjoy Matthew's company. I don't like hurting his feelings. I don't want this conversation to end because Matthew asks such insightful and entertaining questions, and he seems highly intelligent. _I'm _a little disbelieving of the fact that he's only seventeen.

I tell myself that this is just friendship. This is what friendship _is._ I've only met Matthew twice, and it's just a natural friendship that's growing.

Content with that answer, I continue to answer Matthew's brilliant questions - some of which I've never even considered myself. And as I pay my half of the check, Matthew says something about meeting up to talk again whenever it's convenient. I agree to it immediately.

Matthew gives me his phone number, and I find myself saying, "Let's meet tomorrow, if you're still going to be in Quebec."

"Okay," Matthew says. "I'm going back to Philadelphia on Monday, though. Where do you live?"

We take the conversation outside, and I tell him about Berlin and how I can essentially go anywhere in the world at any time.

He still looks a little unconvinced, so I switch out of human form and, in his eyes, I disappear. I don't leave. I just stand there and wait, wanting to see what he'll do.

Matthew looks surprised for a moment, but recovers quickly. He grins and waves. I wave back, even though I know he won't see.

After a second or two, he turns and walks in the other direction, looking less depressed than when I met up with him at noon.

In fact, he looks sort of happy.


	8. The Diamonds, Part I

A/N: I made up the last name DeBroux for Jeanne - because, as you know, she isn't the real 'Jeanne d'Arc' in this story.

* * *

><p>The Diamonds, Part I<p>

I meet Matthew in Quebec the next day. Same area, different restaurant. It's snowing, and we're momentarily distracted by a little kid running down the sidewalk trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue. His parents run after him, yelling in French.

I push open the door, and Matthew says something about how he isn't too hungry, so we order drinks and wave the waiter away every time he asks if we're ready to order.

Eventually, I just ask for fries so he'll leave us alone. I turn to Matthew. "So, what would you like to talk about today?"

Matthew actually looks somewhat amused. "I can't believe we are going to have another death conversation. I still can't fully believe it."

I laugh, tracing my finger around the condensation of my drink glass. "Are you calling me a liar?"

I'm joking, but Matthew blushes. "No! I just-"

"I was kidding," I interrupt, grinning. "So, tell me a bit about yourself."

"Well, I-" Matthew's phone chimes. "Excuse me for one second." He pulls out his phone, and his case is one of those wallet-phone-case combos. As he's opening it to get out his phone, a picture flutters out of the wallet part.

"Eh?" Matthew says. "Oh, sorry."

"Who's that?" I demand, glancing at the photo.

"Oh, um..." Matthew timidly hands me the picture.

I stare. It's a picture of three people, all friends, their arms over each other's shoulders, smiling. They're standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

I recognize Alfred, which makes sense. There's a girl with darker skin and red ribbons in her hair, a floaty blue dress rippling just above her knees, and then -

My eyes widen. Standing to the left of the girl is a blond with emerald green eyes and strangely thick eyebrows.

Arthur Kirkland.

The guy who damned himself to Hell - err, the Astral Plane - was friends with Alfred?

"What was happening in the picture?" I ask.

"Eh?" Matthew's brow furrows, and I know he wonders what's running through my mind. "That was my brother and two of his friends in their senior year of high school. Um, that was almost three years ago, I think. Yeah, because Alfred is a sophomore in college-"

Matthew stops. Remembers what happened to Alfred. Continues. "Sorry. Well, the high school seniors were taking a class trip to Europe that year, and they were in France, as you can see. Anyway, Alfred lost contact with the other two people in the photo - Arthur Kirkland and Michelle Mancham - when they all went off to college, so I can't tell you what happened to them."

_Arthur Kirkland is dead,_ I think. _He died from a heart attack not that long ago._

I do some quick thinking and verify that yes, Michelle is still alive, so at least the picture has one survivor.

"What's the matter?" Matthew asks, reaching for a fry.

I say it's nothing.

Just like yesterday, he asks me wonderful questions. How do I make money if I haven't got a recognized job (I don't steal, I take from dead people who won't mind); was I _really_ born from a supernova (maybe); what would happen if I went into the Beyond (I don't know, but it sounds scary and painful and I know it's not physically possible); and a bunch of other really good points that are logical but that I haven't considered that much.

I have to emphasize repeatedly that I am not omnipotent. I do not know what happens to people when they die. I do not know what will happen in the future. Well, okay, I know when and how people are supposed to die, but that isn't the same as knowing everything that is going to happen.

When our time is up, I pay for everything. Since Matthew is going back to Philadelphia tomorrow, I give him my email, too.

I tell him to stay in touch. From the look on his face, I know this will happen. He still looks at me like I'm a ghost or a unicorn.

Or a _ghost unicorn._

Well, that doesn't matter.

I already want to see him again.

* * *

><p>That evening, as I'm sitting on my couch reading with the television on for background noise, I think about Arthur Kirkland.<p>

I remember him jumping off the Spirit Trail.

He and Alfred were _friends?_

I led Alfred safely to the Beyond. He didn't even know that Arthur was dead. He had no clue. And he won't see Arthur ever again. If there is an afterlife, Alfred might spend years wandering around looking for Arthur.

But Arthur isn't there.

I think about what I told Antonio.

_Love is the only disease that transfers into death._

I wonder if Francis knows who Arthur Kirkland is. Maybe Arthur was in love. Maybe that's why he jumped off the Spirit Trail.

The universe is telling me something, because right as I'm thinking that, my phone rings.

It's one of my daily calls from Francis.

"Evening," I say. No venom in my voice. It's totally neutral.

This throws Francis, because he says, "Oh?" I guess he's gotten used to my tone of voice being malicious, or me not answering the phone at all. He sounds pleased, and I do not like that. "Listen," I command. "Do you know anyone named Arthur Kirkland?"

There's a pause, and I'm half expecting Francis to hang up, but he answers. "Yes! Very annoying man, that one was."

"Annoying?" I ask. "Why?"

"Gilbert, you know I am highly annoyed by anyone who falls in love without my arrows or who is immune to them."

I almost say, _You didn't shoot Jeanne and you didn't shoot yourself, but you loved her and I'm pretty sure you can't get over yourself,_ but I don't want to make Francis angry. Not right now.

So instead, I say, "Right. So Arthur was one of those people?"

_"Oui._ He fell in love with a girl named Michelle Mancham. I hadn't shot her either, but she didn't fall in love, so she's okay by me."

Michelle Mancham? The other person in the photo?

"I thought there was only one person a century who fell in love without your help. Or didn't fall in love... _with_ your help. One or two."

"So did I," Francis says, "but I've noticed that number increasing lately." He sounds perplexed. "I don't know if I've told you this, but I call people who fall in love without my arrows or don't fall in love with them - well, I call them Diamonds."

"Diamonds?" I snort skeptically.

"My arrows are made of gold, and diamonds are stronger than gold," Francis says. "Nevertheless, why did you ask about Arthur?"

"No reason," I reply, though I'm not sure if Francis' diamonds-versus-gold statement is true. "Also, Francis?"

"Yes?"

"I'm pretty sure your arrows didn't affect me. So way to go. Still a real asshole move on your part. I guess I'm a Diamond."

Francis finally hangs up.

I set my phone down and run upstairs. After scanning my bookshelves, I find it - a written record I began keeping ages ago. It's filled with the names of every person who defied Love's power - or, as he would say, every Diamond - and I flip through.

Like I said, it's normal to have one or two people per century.

I leaf through the records. Francis helped me keep this record. It's perfectly accurate.

I began recording around 1400, and there was only one Diamond that century.

But since 1900, the numbers have been rising. Rising _a lot_. Since the turn of the twentieth century, there have been a whole bunch Diamonds. An abnormal amount.

It began in 1941. During World War II. Francis shot a girl named Natalia Arlovskaya. She was supposed to fall in love and get married, but she didn't. That's what Francis told me. She ended up dying the next year, in 1942. After that the names just kept piling up.

Jeanne DeBroux - Francis' love. Lili Zwingli. Lovino Vargas. Mei Xiao. Vladimir Lupei. Emil Steilsson. Kiku Honda.

With a shaking hand, I add the name _Arthur Kirkland_ to the list, then close the folder.

I intend to close the book and go back downstairs, but I just sit there with it on my lap, staring out the window and thinking. Before I leave to do a quick run down the Spirit Trail, let me tell you my thoughts:

1) I wonder if Arthur is regretting his decision to go into the Astral Plane.

2) I wonder why there have been so many Diamonds lately.

3) I wonder what Matthew is doing.

I need to quit reflecting upon Matthew's life. Do I like his questions? Do I like his presence? Do I like the way he's bravely continuing his life, even with his brother gone?

No, I don't like that. I _admire _that.

Well, I don't know or understand... but I really cannot stop thinking about him.


	9. The Diamonds, Part II

A/N: I apologize if this chapter seems rambling or unnecessary, but it'll tie in at a later point in the story. I promise.

* * *

><p>The Diamonds, Part II<p>

Gather 'round. I'm going to tell you a story - well, multiple stories. I'd like to tell you about the Diamonds of the twentieth and twenty-first century.

_Natalia Arlovskaya._

You heard about her. That girl was a piece of work. Francis has ranted about her in detail because of all the work and 'pain' she's caused him. You know what I said earlier. She was the first Diamond of the twentieth century, and I expected her to be the last - or, at least, the second-to-last. Anyway, she was born in 1920 in Belarus, and in 1941, she caught the attention of some high ranked Russian man, Ivan Braginsky. So Francis saw the opportunity for a nice couple. He shot them both.

Ivan fell in love. Like, _deep _love. I-would-die-for-you love. Literally. Natalia was immune to the arrows and did not return Ivan's affection, but since Ivan had so much power, he demanded her hand in marriage. It was kind of awful. Natalia did not want to get married to Ivan, so three days before the wedding, she hanged herself. Ivan really did love Natalia, and he was very upset. He lived for a few years in utmost sorrow. I do not know what he did in those few years of loneliness he had, but he ended up shooting himself in 1946. I had no desire to watch his pain. I hung back and hand-killed Natalia, but not Ivan. Never met the poor man.

_Lili Zwingli. _

You already know her story. But you may not remember that I told you. Recall the story I mentioned about going to the Swiss Alps with Francis and Antonio, when I tried to shoot Francis' bow. The girl I met who was cheating on her boyfriend was Lili Zwingli. She wasn't, I think, doing it to be malicious. She felt bad. It doesn't make it any better, but there is room for forgiveness. Her boyfriend - at the moment, I don't remember who he was - really did love her. Francis shot them both, just like he shot Natalia and Ivan, but Lili didn't seem to like the poor guy back, hence the cheating. This was in, oh, 1990? Right, because Lili died in 1994.

_Lovino Vargas. _

Lovino was born in 1930, and when he was twenty, he moved to New York. He died in the Mafia. I did not hand-kill him, so I am unsure of the exact details, but I know Antonio was very excited when Lovino was born. Then things got weirder.

Antonio spent a lot of time alone in 1952, which was the year Lovino died. I told him in the beginning of that year, _Lovino is going to die this year. So you can quit obsessing over him, _and he spent the next six months looking for the key to immortality. I know he wanted to find it for Lovino. But it was kind of ridiculous, because as far as Lovino knew, Antonio did not exist.

Antonio denies it now. He denies joining the hunt for immortality because of a human. He won't acknowledge anyone if they talk about Lovino. So I steer clear of that topic.

_Mei Xiao. _

Francis has not said much about her, and she has no grand story, either. She was born in 1970 in Taipei, Taiwan. She fell in love with a guy she wasn't supposed to fall in love with, then died in 1995 when a boat she was on was 'lost at sea.' In truth, she was murdered for an inheritance received from her grandmother.

_Vladimir Lupei. _

Poor Vlad. He was born and left in one of those terrible Romanian orphanages in 1984, back when things were _really _bad. When Vladimir was an adult, Francis felt bad for everything the Romanian had been through, so he decided to give Vladimir the gift of love. But Vladimir didn't fall in love. He spent his late teenage years alone, sad, and (at times) homeless. He ended up getting murdered in 2004 by an insane man who thought Vladimir was a vampire, and therefore 'another form of a demon.'

Vlad was one of my favorite people of all time. I hand-killed him because I knew of the circumstances of his life and I wanted to apologize (even though it wasn't my fault), and while we were walking the Spirit Trail, we had a really good, deep conversation. He didn't seem at all upset about the terrible life he'd received. (I mean, if I had to live in a deprived orphanage for the first half of my life and then get killed at the age of twenty by an insane man, I'd be livid.)

_Emil Steilsson. _

I don't know that much about him, either. I did not hand-kill him, but I know that he was born in 1992 and died in 2010. Francis has never said much about Emil, but I also know that he was born in Iceland and his family moved to Norway when he was twelve, where he was supposed to fall in love. He, as you can guess, did not.

_Kiku Honda. _

Born in 1979. Died in 2001. Never fell in love, even though Francis wanted him to.

You already know about Jeanne and Arthur.

And something terrible occurs to me. Why did I not see it earlier?

These people... these people never make it past thirty. They die in their twenties or their late teen years. It bothers me.

It's 2:30 in the morning, but I call Matthew. Thankfully, it's not too late in the evening where lives. He answers.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Matthew. So, um, I'm sorry to bother you, but is... well, I mean... can you..."

Matthew laughs softly. "What is it, Gilbert?"

"Where are you?"

"Eh? I'm at my grandmother's. In Quebec. I'm going home tomorrow. She let me stay over for the weekend, y'know. Early Christmas celebration or something. I didn't technically lie to my parents when I said I was staying with here, even though I originally came to Canada to see you."

"Right. Great. Anyway." I gather my courage (which is ridiculous, there's no need for me to be worried) and say, "Can you tell me about Michelle and Arthur?"

He isn't expecting this but he complies. "Okay. Well, Arthur is from Britain, and Michelle is from Seychelles, I think. That's right - sometimes she'd come over to see Alfred and we'd have conversations in French. It ticked Al off, but it was funny."

"Was she nice?" I'm glad she isn't dead. It's insane, but it's true.

Matthew sighs fondly. "Oh, very. I'm actually a little sad that contact with her has been severed. She could never believe that Alfred was my stepbrother, though. She said we looked just alike and that it was impossible that we didn't share any blood."

I remember what Alfred told me in the hospital in Maine - _Matthew's my stepbrother -_ and I do think it's strange how extraordinarily similar they look. Only their eyes are - were? - different. I do remember that Alfred's were blue, and Matthew's are that strange, dark purplish-navy color. "He was only your stepbrother, Matthew?"

"Yeah! Isn't it crazy. My stepmom, Amelia, and my dad met when I was three and Alfred was five."

"That's nice. Are you still close with your birth mother?"

"Eh...? No, I've never met her. Besides" - his tone of voice becomes confident - "I'm positive Amelia's a better mom anyway. What were we talking about? Oh! Arthur Kirkland, right? He's from Britain, like I said. He stayed in the US for college, though. I think he moved to Washington or California. He was great! He and Al sometimes got in fights, but it was always over stupid things, like if it was better to spell a word with a 'u' or-"

"Matthew-" I want to tell him that Arthur's dead, but he interrupts.

"Arthur was special, you know," Matthew says.

"How so?"

Matthew hesitates. "It's going to sound stupid, okay? But it's true. Arthur could predict the future. I mean, not in detail. He couldn't tell you what you'd be eating for lunch the next day or anything like that. Maybe it wasn't even 'predicting the future.' But he definitely had a sixth sense for things that were going to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that whenever he got a bad feeling about something, something bad _always _happened. Similarly, if he was optimistic about something or someone, it always went well, or the person turned out to be kind. I know it sounds impossible, but it was true."

I feel uneasy. "So if he didn't have a good feeling about something..."

Matthew fills in the blank. "He'd do anything he could to avoid it. His actions would seem strange to us - to regular people, I mean - but in the end, they always made sense and he always escaped a certain pain, whether literal or figurative."

"Seemed strange," I murmur. I wish Matthew a good-night, then call Antonio and ask him if he wants to come over and eat something, maybe even rent a movie. (I am a human, after all. Kind of.) He says he'll be there in a half hour.

While I'm waiting for him, I feel nervous. Sick.

If what Matthew was saying is correct, and Arthur did 'strange' things to avoid bad situations he knew were coming, it makes me wonder what's in the Beyond. Was he trying to get away from something? Did he know pain was coming? Did he know what the Beyond would be like before entering?

This can't be good.


	10. Friendship

A/N: I forgot to mention that there's a high probability that I'll make Spamano a side arc in this story. So, enjoy!

* * *

><p>Friendship<p>

On the Tuesday before Christmas, which is on a Saturday this year, I call Matthew and ask him if he would like to meet again, even though we just spoke two days ago. He asks if I'd like to visit his home. I decline - what would his parents think about a stranger showing up out of nowhere? - but he says they're an hour away at a hockey game. It'll be fine if I come over.

I agree and tell him I'll be there in twenty minutes.

I purposely leave my phone on the kitchen table. I don't care about Francis' calls anymore, and if I don't answer my phone, Antonio will just assume I'm on the Spirit Trail. I grab my messenger bag and leave for the United States.

* * *

><p>Matthew lives in a nice apartment near the heart of Philadelphia. He gives me the address, and when he opens the door for me, a huge Australian Sheepdog with ice blue eyes runs up to me, tail wagging.<p>

"Hero!" Matthew calls. "Hi, Gilbert. Sorry. Alfred's - err, _our _dog is very friendly. Come in. How are you?"

I pat Hero's head. "Good, I think. So you got back from Quebec safe and sound, huh?"

"Guess so." Matthew leads me to a living room and we sit down. He still seems to be handling Alfred's death relatively well, and I'm relieved. As he shifts to move a pillow out of his way, the sleeve of his shirt rises up his arm, and I notice a pale, ghastly scar running the length of his wrist.

"Matthew-"

He looks at me with his strange-colored eyes, and I _still _can't place who they remind me of. "What?"

"Did you _cut _yourself?" I don't know why this bothers me so much. I've been around plenty of suicidal people - hello, who do you think I am? - but the thought of a depressed Matthew makes me so uncomfortable that I have to struggle to remain calm.

"I did." He laughs again. "But not in the way you think! When I was nine, I watched this spy movie with Alfred, and as a joke, he told me the government planted a tracker in my wrist. I took a steak knife and tried cutting it out. Of course, nothing was there, but Amelia walked into the kitchen and about died when she saw all the blood everywhere. I had to go to the hospital, but at least I got an interesting story out of it." He smiles slightly, and I can tell that for some strange reason, this is a fond memory for him. Maybe because Alfred was in it. The joy is in remembering the person, not the pain.

"Hey," Matthew prompts. "What are your favorite things?"

"My what?" I ask, snapping out of my thoughts.

He laughs pleasantly. "How shall we become friends if we don't know anything about each other?"

"You want to be friends with _me?" _I demand. "But someday... I mean, not to trouble you, but someday you're going to die-"

Matthew raises an eyebrow. "So just enjoy what's here and what's now. Favorite things?"

"Favorite things?" I repeat. "God, okay. Let me think. Don't laugh?"

"Why would I laugh?"

"Um, um, I like dogs. I like... ugh, this is difficult." No one has ever asked me what I like. I've only ever had Francis and Antonio, who already know everything about me.

"You're German, aren't you?"

I shake my head. "Nope. I'm _Prussian. _Even if that isn't around anymore, I'll always be Prussian. Okay, I'm not technically from any country, but if you asked me to pick my favorite, that'd be it. That's why I like the German language, I guess."

"What language do you speak in your head?" Matthew asks.

"Any? All? I can speak every language. I've always been able to. And whenever a new language comes around, I can speak that, too. But German's my favorite."

Matthew looks amazed. "And I thought being fluent in two languages was annoying. You're on a whole different level, aren't you?"

"Oh? What other language are you fluent in?"

"French, of course."

We have the rest of the conversation in French. Even though it reminds of Francis, I do it to make Matthew happy. I learn that his birthday is July 1st - hey, Canada Day - and he's already sent in applications for a few American colleges, most of them around Philadelphia. He wants to move back to Canada when he's older, though.

He tells me more about his family. Apparently, Amelia is a very nice person, and he's never known anything different. Alfred's grandparents love him like he's their own grandchild. He still has his grandmother on his dad's side - the one who lives in Quebec - but his grandfather on his dad's side was the one who got gunned down. The one I hand-killed. He knows nothing at all about his mother, only that he got his eyes from her.

"So," he says, "you never had to go to school, did you?"

"School?" I shake my head. "Nope."

"Well, I envy and pity you at the same time."

I snort. "Why on earth would I _want _to go to school? I've already seen all the things the world has to offer. I was around when they _discovered_ the stuff you learn about."

Matthew shrugs. "I don't know. Don't take this the wrong way, please, but you seem... I don't know. You seem like a kind of lonely person. At least at school, you can make friends, you know what I mean?"

I sigh. Friends? I've never really had friends, except for Antonio. And I don't think that counts.

"Well," I counter, "it's pretty awesome being me, too."

"How so?" Matthew takes a sip of the hot chocolate he's made for both of us and smiles.

"I mean, have you ever seen the sun rise over the Eiffel Tower? Or caught snowflakes on your tongue in front of the Kremlin? Or messed with the police in New York City with absolutely no fear of being caught? Yes, there is a lot of sadness in my life - the sadness of other people. But it's a pretty fun experience, too."

Matthew laughs. "I like you, Gilbert. You remind me of Alfred."

I smile back. "Thanks. I like you, too."

* * *

><p>"You're in a good mood today, huh?" Antonio asks, raising his coffee cup to his mouth and blowing steam across the top.<p>

"Hmm?" I set down my own coffee and watch tiny snowflakes drift down from the gray sky. "Oh, I hadn't noticed."

Antonio and I are sitting on a city bench in New York City, taking a break from our lives and enjoying the cheery holiday decorations set up everywhere. We're in human form, so I can feel the bitter cold of the snow, but it makes things feel more realistic.

"Where were you yesterday?" Antonio has a gleam in his emerald eyes.

"Wh- oh. I was in Philadelphia."

"Listen, Gilbert. I know you and Francis have been mad with each other since Jeanne's death, so I've only been able to spend time with both of you one-on-one. Which is fine. But I'm just wondering... um..." Antonio stutters, seemingly embarrassed.

I watch a couple with intertwined hands walk past us, laughing and smiling. "Spit it out, Toni."

"Yes, um, are you in love with someone?"

_"What?! _No! Definitely not! What the hell gave you that idea?!"

Antonio laughs. "Nothing, nothing, Starry. Don't worry."

I lean back against the bench, sighing. "You're crazy."

Antonio knows something has happened. Maybe he doesn't know that Francis shot me, but he knows something changed.

But nothing _has _to change. It's not too late.

Even if the arrows work on immortals, I swear I'll never fall in love.


End file.
